Two Percent Power (Book 2): Spilled Milk

by Brian Manning

  The cackler joined the party letting out a loud shout while stepping in with wild flailing arms. Patrick kept the distance between them to avoid the blows. He whipped a pulse of milk from his left glove, poking the man’s ample gut with a solid beam. He dropped to his knees as he heaved, struggling to suck in a breath.

  Patrick prepared to unleash his powers to their fullest as the XGH soldier rushed in again. He covered his right hand with a shimmering white gauntlet and met the attack head-on. Patrick’s armored fist struck the man’s solar plexus. At the same time, the attacker’s punch landed hard on the left forearm Patrick used to protect his head. A sharp pain radiated out, from wrist to elbow, and the sheer force of the impact sent Patrick careening to the side, rolling to a stop on the street.

  He pushed himself up, but the pain in his left arm caused him to wince and collapse. He could see the brute on one knee wheezing with a line of saliva hanging from his bottom lip. A blur of movement caught Patrick’s eye as the sprinter ran up to deliver a kick. He rolled to his side and covered his head and face with both hands as the toe of his attacker’s boot dug into his ribs. Patrick tucked his injured left arm against the now bruised rib and scrambled back to his feet. He could see that the street where he stood earlier was now wet with the milk he “dropped” when he lost his focus.

  A flurry of unrefined punches came in. Patrick did his best to use distance and footwork to avoid as much damage as he could. He could feel that he still had enough milk in the remaining pouches of his suit. All he needed was an opening. The fanatic’s fist cracked against Patrick’s head, above his left eye. Again, he was sent back down to the street. Not the opening he would have chosen, but it did give him the space he needed. Patrick opened up with both hands. Both blasts converged into a solid pillar that hammered the man’s sternum.

  He rolled up to his knees and wrapped a tendril around the fanatic’s legs. He could see the fat man getting back to his feet, wiping the puke from his mouth. With one motion, Patrick pulled the legs out from under the sprinter, while he dropped a milky hammer from his other hand, on top of the cackler’s head.

  He stood up and walked past the two unconscious Brotherhood members, approaching the juiced up leader. Patrick was focused, and could feel his control strengthening again. He poured more milk out from each glove, adding to the rest he was just using. Two liquid white demonic wings floated behind him.

  The hairy man’s eyes burned with fury as he growled and attacked. Patrick wrapped the milk around his body like a matador’s cape, preparing to defend himself. As the blow came, he wiped his foe to the side with ease, using liquid. Going for a fearsome appearance, Patrick formed the demon wings again, flaring them out as he walked toward the young woman on the sidewalk. The man protecting her stepped between them and unfolded a pocket knife. Patrick watched as the man used two hands to open the blade, almost dropping it. His posture was weak, but his voice was firm.

  “Leave her alone,” he said. “You’re going to have to go through me. We don’t want any trouble.”

  “I feel like you’re trying to fight off three different people. You should just stick to one of those sentences.”

  “We didn’t have any choice. They were going to hurt them.”

  “Slow down. Who was going to get hurt?” Patrick asked.

  “H-her parents. They’re at her house right now,” he said.

  “Armageddon? Did they threaten them?”

  The man dropped his gaze then lifted it back up to Patrick. “Yes. I had to show them how Kristen’s powers worked tonight. They wanted to see if they can use her to get them out.”

  “Get who out?” There were too many unanswered questions for Patrick to follow along.

  “They said, if we don’t help them, they’ll kill her parents.”

  Patrick extended his hand. The wing mimicked his actions, forming a disembodied hand in front of the frightened man. “Give me the knife. We can help you.”

  The man’s eyes darted to the side. Patrick reacted, swinging his arm out, as his milk extension trailed a split-second behind. He struck the XGH enhanced soldier with a powerful backhand blow, sending the muscular man slamming into a parked car. He turned back to see a dark circle caving in on itself, leaving only the security gate of the liquor store behind.

  Patrick ran up to the gate and looked in. The bars under his gloved hand were cold where the dark portal rested. He could see a faint glow from the back of the darkened store. He pushed off the ground with two solid blasts and then lashed the edge of the roof with white tendrils. Patrick pulled himself up to the roof and ran to look into the alley behind the row of stores. He dropped to the asphalt and looked for any sign of movement, and felt the walls looking for a cold spot, like the on security gate. Nothing.

  Patrick closed his eyes and lifted his head, breathing in deep through his mouth. He opened his eyes and looked at his feet. They went down. Smart. The two unwilling fanatics escaped.

  Patrick paced back and forth across the alley. He called Broadband after the man and woman got away. They were in trouble, and he needed more information about them so that he could help.

  “His name is David Crane, and her name is Kristen Dole. From what I can tell, they’re called Lock and Key,” Broadband said.

  “Who’s calling them that?” Patrick asked.

  “That’s how the darknet sites refer to them. Like a codename, to talk about them without revealing their names. Armageddon just recently found out about them.”

  “Are they related somehow? Do their powers work together?” Patrick asked, pressing his hands over his ears to block out the wind in the alley.

  “He doesn’t have any powers. David’s her therapist”

  Patrick sat back and leaned against the wall. “Therapist for what?”

  “Kristen falls on the autism spectrum. He discovered her powers during one of their sessions.” Broadband began typing as he spoke. “Crane made the mistake of logging her ability in his records, and that info fell into the wrong hands when hackers started looking for supers.”

  “We have to save them,” Patrick said. “David told me Armageddon had her family. They were holding them hostage to force Kristen to use her powers to help someone escape. I need you to find out who David could be talking about.”

  “What do we do about the parents?”

  “Get that information to everybody. The police, the team. Everybody. Make sure they’re safe.”

  “Should I tell them you’re in on this as well?” Broadband asked.

  “Not yet. Just tell them it’s something you found out about in your research. It is the truth, after all.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Do Warhead or Ground Zero have any known affiliations with someone the police are holding in custody?” Patrick asked.

  “That was my first thought, but I don’t see any solid connections. Unless…” Broadband kept typing.

  “Unless what?” Patrick listed to the clacking keys, tempted to repeat his question.

  “Sight.” More typing. “Sight and all of the masks formerly on his payroll are being held at Black Lake prison. Just outside the city.”

  Patrick felt all the warmth drain from his body. The pain from his battle overloaded his senses as the world around him started spinning. “I need a drink.”

  ISSUE THREE

  CHAPTER

  25

  Darren Welk sat on the too-thin mattress of his little concrete bed, in his little concrete cell. Welk’s long hair cascaded down his shoulders, no longer pulled back into a ponytail. He didn’t have the tools necessary to keep his facial hair sculpted to perfection, so he opted for a clean shaven face. He clutched a small round pebble in his hand, looking for a mental connection with someone.

  Eleven months ago, he was known as Sight. The leader of the Visionaries. Darren was poised to take over the city, but a group of capes thwarted his efforts. Heroes that had banded together and inspired the residents to fight back. As Sight, he had the ability
to tap into the minds of those around him and see what they could see. The more time he spent connecting to someone, the clearer his vision was. The longer he was isolated from the outside world, the more his connections faded. One by one he lost the visual network that fed information into his mind.

  He still maintained a loose grip on several of his former super-powered captains. But all he could glean from those connections was that they, too, were confined to small six by nine concrete cells. Darren retrieved a pebble, tucked under his mattress, clutching it close to his chest. It was a terrible hiding spot for the contraband. He had found the small rock on a well-worn path taken by the guards in the yard.

  Darren hoped to catch a glimpse through the eyes of someone who had walked that route regularly. Instead, it was a mixture of images all melding into one confused collage. He had wasted restless nights, like the Princess and the Pea, only to have scatterbrained, short-attention-span, MTV style montages bombard his mind. He tossed the pebble across the small enclosure.

  Of all his connections, he noticed right away that one had slipped from his grasp. Where, oh where, is Cassandra? He smiled, knowing that his most powerful lieutenant, Deadeye, was outside of the law’s grasp.

  Darren laid back, crossing his hands behind his pillow. He closed his eyes for a second and then opened them up again. Aren’t the lights usually off by now? He got up and walked to the door of his cell, wrapping his fingers around the bars to pull his face out as far as he could.

  “Why are all the lights still on?”

  As if the rest of the cell block just now noticed, or weren’t bothered enough to say anything, a slew of voices joined in, shouting questions down the hall. A low rumble shook the walls and bars, causing everyone to step away. Most of the chatter died down, allowing Darren to hear a deep thud. Another rumble shook the walls again. The lights flickered for a moment, came back on, and then turned off with a sizzling pop.

  “Guards, what’s going on? You can’t leave us here in the dark,” Darren said.

  The cacophony of voices started again. The inmates all rattled their cages, shouting demands and obscenities to the unobservant guards.

  Darren felt a faint buzz in his temples. He closed his eyes and reached out. A vague picture of what was happening in the high-level blocks filled his mind. He was looking through the eyes of one of his most loyal super soldiers. Kill-O-What, a super with the ability to generate and manipulate electricity, walked down the hall. Every few steps a guard would round the corner, or pop out from behind cover, only to be put down by a brilliant white bolt of lightning.

  Darren sat back on his mattress, watching the events unfold. Kill-O-What reached a thick, metal security door, and turned back to face behind him. Brutality filled the hallway. Fear Mongrel, a vicious beast with the face of a Saint Bernhard, crouched over a cowering guard. He drank in the fear of his victim as his shoulders sprouted thicker fur and his body grew, fed by the guard’s unbridled horror. Darren could see Hair Devil and Man-vil in the mix too.

  A pair of giants, packed with muscle, strode down the hall, and one by one yanked, kicked, or ripped each cell open. They moved with purpose. No one stood in their way, nor questioned their actions.

  Another super, with the appearance of a minotaur, stepped out of his cell and wasted no time rushing an oncoming group of men in riot gear. A smaller man aided the bull, appearing to shout at one of the guards and shattering the clear plastic shield he ducked behind. The minotaur plowed into the corrections officers, crushing them against the wall.

  Darren could see Kill-O-What’s hand wave someone over. A scared nerdy-looking man used his body to cover a young girl, a teenager perhaps, while they moved through the brawl. Kill-O-What’s electrical field dropped as the pair reached him. He pointed to the door.

  Darren watched through his loyal captain’s eyes as the young girl placed both hands on the thick steel door and slid them outward. A dark spiraling disc grew out, By the time it reached her hands, the middle showed a wavering image of the next cell block. Darren’s cell block. Kill-O-What stepped into the portal, emerging on the other side of the door. His energy shield sparked to life again. Now the entire cell block was filled with the bluish glow and near-deafening, crackling buzz that earned Kill-O-What his name.

  Darren waved his hand out through the bars, knowing his voice couldn’t overcome the popping electrical field.

  Broadband did his best to duck behind his laptop’s display as he fed the information to the rest of the group. Speetah sat nearest to him, staring daggers through the monitor. Boost, Black Paralysis, and Striker sat on the other side of the table, while the rest chose to stand.

  “The Brotherhood of Armageddon refer to them as Lock and Key,” he said. “Kristen has the ability to open up a door through solid barriers. It’s how she hides, to cope with her day to day life.”

  “What about the other guy? David?” Speetah asked. “What’s his power?”

  “He doesn’t have any powers. Kristen is autistic. David is her therapist.”

  “So he decided to exploit her powers to do what, rob a bank?” Black Paralysis asked.

  “No. Armageddon found out about her when BoA hackers scoured the darknet for unverified supers to recruit.” Troy dragged his finger along the touchpad of his laptop and pulled a window into view. “Warhead and Ground Zero are using her to help someone escape.”

  “Help whom escape?” Speetah was standing now.

  “We don’t know yet. I’m still—”

  “Who’s we?” Speetah asked, leaning in close. “You and Patrick?”

  “I-I, yes we were dealing with a—”

  “Unbelievable!” Speetah closed her eyes and shook her head. “He leaves us here hanging, so he can go play capes and robbers.”

  Black Paralysis stood up too. “We have to deal with that later, Crystal. Right now that young woman and her family are in danger.”

  Speetah dropped back into her chair and folded her arms. Her silence conceded to Black Paralysis.

  “So how should we proceed?” Recurve asked. He was attaching a few extra add-ons to an older recurve bow, replacing the one he lost in the fight with Armageddon.

  “Yeah, like BP said, the girl, her therapist, and her family are all in danger,” Boost said.

  “I have the address here. It’s in the suburbs.” Broadband turned his laptop around to show the map on his screen. “I don’t have the range to get a drone out that far, so we can only assume Brotherhood goons are still keeping them there.”

  “Sounds like someone has to take a field trip outside of the city, to the land of white picket fences and suburban supervillains,” Recurve said.

  “I’ll go,” Speetah said, looking at the table.

  “I can tag along, and provide backup,” Striker said, snatching his polymer bokken off the table as he stood.

  “Count me in,” Manerpillar said.

  Striker pointed, and started to speak before Manny interjected.

  “I know. You’re driving. My van stays here.”

  Striker answered with a thumbs up.

  “Got room for one more?” Weed asked. “I’d like to join you if that’s alright.”

  The others nodded.

  Crystal pulled on a track jacket and brushed her hair forward with her hands. “I’m heading there on foot. Can you keep up?”

  “Please.” Striker shot her a cocky grin and tilted his head to one side.

  After the four capes had left the room, Boost turned to the others. “His car can’t keep up.”

  Abby snorted trying to stifle a laugh.

  Battlelord watched as freed inmates and Brotherhood of Armageddon maniacs roamed the halls of the Black Lake off-site facility. It was a newer prison designed to deal with supers from neighboring states. The prison was still under construction; not scheduled to house the first super-powered criminals for another year. But after the conflict with the Visionaries, the timetables were ramped up, and various masks now occupied a small cluster of
cells in the facility. Or at least they were occupied until just an hour ago. Only a dozen or so inmates stayed in the cell blocks, but supplies had been brought in to equip the skeleton crew of guards. Stun sticks, shotguns, rifles, and riot gear. Armageddon now had their hands on the arsenal.

  The Brotherhood goons detained the guards in a newer cell block since all of the doors had been ripped free of the previously filled ones. Most corrections officers suffered minor scrapes, cuts, and bruising. A few suffered broken bones or severe sprains. Two guards were in a coma. Battlelord brought them into the medical wing and laid them in two of the beds. He had no medical training and didn’t know how to deal with injuries this critical.

  Warhead walked in, looked at the two injured guards and grinned. “What are you doing in here?”

  “These men need medical attention. They’re going to die if we don’t get them some help,” Battlelord said.

  “Soft,” Warhead muttered, shaking his head as he walked out.

  Battlelord called out to the hall after him. “This isn’t right. We should be handling things better than this.”

  The big wrestler turned and walked back in. “Of course it’s not right. We’re nothing to these people.” He pointed an accusing finger at one of the comatose guards. “We’re infected. Tainted. They only love supers when we’re locked up behind bars, or shackled by contracts to dance, like little-caped-monkeys. That ends now. Today.”

  “You’re building a dangerous army. A bunch of crazy kids with guns isn’t how we should fight our war.”

  Warhead tucked his chin and looked at him from under a massive brow. “These crazy kids get what we’re trying to say. You’re the one that doesn’t understand the message anymore, old man.”